


Fratres in Armis

by KaitanISB021



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Clone Wars, Crack Treated Seriously, Discoveries, Gen, Geonosis, Jedi, Lasan, Not Shippy, Onderon, Order 66, Post-Episode: s03e21-22 Zero Hour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 00:34:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12377319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaitanISB021/pseuds/KaitanISB021
Summary: “This is not your fault, Kallus. This isThrawn’sfault. This is theEmperor’sfault. You, you stayed because you wanted to help us, because you thought you could do more good there. What matters is what washere, Kallus”–he tapped Kallus’s chest gently, right over his heart—“and that is why you’re here now, and why we welcome you here.”Kallus squeezed his eyes shut even more tightly, thanking the stars Kanan couldn’t see the tears that were now flowing freely from them. Oh, this was worse than the anger he thought he would face when he revealed his failure to the rebels, the way he’d led Thrawn to them. This was much, much worse.“You don’tknowwhat’s here”—he whispered, tapping his finger over his own heart—“and that’s the problem.”





	1. Gratia

The grief was palpable in the Force. Not that he was surprised. There was so much lost today, he would have been surprised not to have felt it; it hung like a weight, palpable, oppressive. It emanated from every corner of the _Ghost_ , humming, a sad chord comprised of notes of pain, loss, relief, and guilt.

A more quotidian hum came from the med droid in the hallway, attending to the injured. They were, he knew, packed into every spare nook and cranny of the ship. Hera would take them back to Yavin IV now. He sighed, took a deep breath and moved toward the warm spark in the Force that indicated his padawan, who shared in this grief, this guilt, and needed the reassurance and support of his master. Despite the grief, despite the losses, Kanan could at least provide that. 

But Ezra’s was not the only individual presence that stood out on the ship, not the only person whose Force signature burned brightly to him. Hera, of course; his bond with her meant that she too was a bright spark. But here, in the hallway, he could sense another who had been visible to him with especial clarity, even before his blindness, even before he had become especially sensitive to the Force as a way of seeing. First, as a spark of determination and animosity that shone even brighter than the usual determined Force signature of the warrior. But then, even once that deep antagonism was dimmed on Lothal, replaced by a different, more ambivalent tone, he could still sense it more strongly than that of other beings. He had long since ceased to puzzle at its demanding presence.

He walked toward that beacon first, even before he heard the tentative call.

“Kanan. Thank you….for taking me in.”

The deep voice now lacked the certainty it had always carried, even in the awkward moment it revealed that the bane of their existence had become a Fulcrum agent. But Kanan could sense more in the Force than uncertainty: a crushing feeling, emanating from the man in waves. Shame. 

His heart hurt to sense it. For all the evil Kallus had done, he knew full well that Kallus had accepted the full burden of his own guilt. He had seen the error of his ways, somehow, thank the Force (and Zeb), and had chosen a path that made it a wonder, frankly, that he was alive before him. Alive, and perhaps overwhelmed with the feeling of having survived when he had no expectation of doing so and now being among his former enemies.

Feeling lost, he could understand. This shame, now, was harder to make sense of.

He placed his hand firmly on Kallus’s shoulder.

“Thank _you_. For risking _everything_.”

He could feel a miniscule lightening of the other man’s burden for just a moment. It would have to do for now.


	2. Dolor

After the med droid had reviewed his more significant injuries and prescribed rest, bacta patches, and painkillers, Kallus moved quickly away from the busy hallway. He knew that the rebel soldiers around him were distracted by their own losses, but he had enough of a survival instinct left to want to be sure that one of them didn’t see his Imperial uniform and snap. 

That is what he told himself, anyway; the truth that he wasn’t doing much good at suppressing was he couldn’t bear their eyes on him at all. The fellow-feeling here was not for him. It was because of him. He had failed, failed spectacularly, and his dearest fantasy at the moment was to curl into a ball in a quiet corner and take enough painkillers to forget it all for a little while.

No such luck, of course; his former foe, Garazeb, turned the corner, halted, and smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. Touchy-feely bunch, these rebels, he thought sharply, then immediately chided himself. He would need to get past his own diffidence here. He knew deep down that it was simply a cover for his own self-contempt, and that would do no one any good.

“Well done, Kallus. When we got your signal from the pod, I was amazed you actually made it out alive.” Zeb paused, then stepped closer, dropping his hand and stooping slightly to look him over. Kallus shrunk unconsciously from his gaze and started to twist away, stopping with a groan when his ribs protested. 

“Or…did you? You look like bantha poodoo. Have you seen the medic? Karabast, Kallus. What did Thrawn and his people _do_ to you?” He raised a finger to Kallus’s left eye, which had begun to swell shut, then withdrew, apparently--and thankfully--thinking better of touching it. He made his huge hands into fists instead, and put them on his hips, his face now the perfect image of a concerned mother scolding a wayward child. “It looks fantastic on me, sure, but purple isn’t really your color.”

Kallus began a companionable chuckle but his ribs informed him that was a decidedly poor idea. “I have seen the medic, Garazeb, thank you. Nothing that won’t heal. But….” He winced again at his ribs, which didn’t like his twisting back any more than they enjoyed his twisting away. “I hate to ask, but is there a place where I could lie down for a little while? Only if it isn’t a burden….”

“Oh, sure, mate. We’re pretty full up, and Sabine’s room is full of cots already, but since she and Ezra are going with Rau to Mandalore, I have a spare bunk.” He looked Kallus up and down with concern. “But you’ll have to take my bunk for now. I doubt you’ll be climbing in and out of a top bunk for a while yet. C’mon. Do you need a hand?” Kallus shook his head, so he followed Zeb down the short hallway, limping, finding quickly that the adrenaline that had kept him upright so far was now draining from his body. He was deeply grateful that they reached Garazeb’s room before he actually collapsed.

“Are you sure you’re all right, Kallus?” Zeb asked, watching Kallus sink quickly onto the lower bunk. “You look a little…pale.” 

“I just…could you help me remove my cuirass?” Kallus croaked, afraid to lift his arms to the fasteners and reveal how much he was shaking.

“Sure, mate.” Zeb kindly pretended not to notice the trembling as he unhooked the armor and lifted it over his head. “I….are you okay? Do you need anything before I go?” he said, now looking away and scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. Stars, he must really look a mess if Zeb was acting like this.

“No, thank you. I think I’ll just try to rest and let the bacta and pain medication do its work.”

“Right. Good. I’ll just…let you get a little rest in privacy, then? If you’re sure?”

“Yes. Thank you...Zeb. Truly.” The lasat smiled warmly to hear Kallus use his nickname, then backed out of the room with a nod. 

It wasn’t the pain, though, Kallus thought as his stomach clenched. He laid himself down gingerly on his right side, his ribs and leg protesting until they were still and supported. It wasn’t the pain, or entirely the adrenaline crash. It was…what? He huffed out a breath and pressed his hands to his gut as a wave of trembling rolled over him.

Being _here. Alive._ On the ship. With the very people he’d tried repeatedly to kill offering him shelter, looking at him with concern, pressing steadying hands to his shoulder. His stomach clenched again and he caught himself somewhere between dry-heaving and hyperventilating.

Zeb. Kanan. Two beings he had hated and pursued with a fury that bordered on madness. And then…to have discovered what he had about the Empire. The lies. Lasan. Geonosis. The Jedi. His gorge rose again as he remembered the moment he called his stormtroopers to “focus all fire on the Jedi,” and then remembered his interrogation of Kanan, brutal enough even before he eventually turned him over to the special torture methods of Tarkin and the Grand Inquisitor. The shame, the self-hatred, rolled over him in shuddering waves and threatened to choke him.

As if on cue, a soft knock came to the door, and a quiet “Kallus? It’s Kanan.”

Of course, the very person he did not want to face right now. But he couldn’t bear the thought of his own cowardice, either. 

“Yes,” he managed to croak.

The door hissed open, and Kanan, scarred grey eyes boring into him as if they could see, forehead furrowed in concern, walked straight to the bunk and sat carefully down next to him. Placed an infuriatingly kind hand on his shoulder. Again. He shuddered.

“I’m sorry to disturb you. I know you’re in pain, and that you need to rest. But….I felt something more from you. I felt like you were…in crisis.” 

Kallus stiffened, and Kanan gave a quiet laugh in response. “I’m not mind-probing you, Kallus—don’t worry. Normal Jedi don’t actually do that to other sentients, no matter what you’ve heard. It’s just….you’ve always been easier for me to sense, for some reason. And you are projecting this pain and shame into the Force so strongly that, frankly, I couldn’t concentrate on anything else. Can you…would you talk to me about it? Can I help?” 

Kallus barked a bitter laugh, cut short by the pain in his ribs. “I think you and Garazeb might be the last people in the galaxy to help, Kanan, although I appreciate the offer.” The hand on his shoulder didn’t let go, however. His shaking had subsided, at least. 

Kanan’s blind eyes were turned on him, waiting for him to continue. He sighed.

“Tell me, Kallus. Please.”

Kallus closed his eyes. “Why?”

“Because I want to help.” 

Kallus huffed, frustrated—with Kanan or with himself, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps both. He stared at Kanan, trying and failing to suppress a rising anger that he couldn’t begin to explain to either of them. 

_“Why_? Why do you want to _help_? After what I did to you? And why take me in now, after I refused you the first time?” He shook his head and bit down on his lip until it bled, trying to keep control of his voice.

“The second time, really. Gara…Zeb was going to take me back to the _Ghost_ when you rescued him from the ice moon, you know, but I told him I’d take my chances with the Empire.” He spat out another bitter laugh, despite the protest of his chest and sides. “And then when Ezra and your droids came, and you and the clone were almost killed trying to extract me, I turned you down. I stayed. For nothing, as it turns out.” 

He closed his eyes again, horrified to realize that they were beginning to sting with tears. “I failed you all. Did you realize Thrawn”—he shook his head in disgust—“Thrawn used me to find you? I was trying to let you know that he knew about your planned attack on Lothal. I thought I was helping, sending you that message, but he used it, used _me_ , to find your base. He found the intersection of the trajectory of my message and the trajectory of Dodonna’s fleet. Without my message, he would have had nothing. _Nothing_. You would all still be safe.”

His breath shuddered, what little was left of his emotional control slipping. “This is all my fault. I know exactly how badly I failed. I watched them all die, Kanan.” He turned away, the blind Jedi’s eyes too much to face. “He made me watch my failure. My pride. It killed them all. Their deaths, Kanan. _They are my fault._ ” 

Kanan pressed his shoulder more firmly as the trembling returned in force.

“This is not your fault, Kallus. This is _Thrawn’s_ fault. This is the _Emperor’s_ fault. You, you stayed because you wanted to help us, because you thought you could do more good there. What matters is what was _here_ , Kallus”–he tapped Kallus’s chest gently, right over his heart—“and that is why you’re here now, and why we welcome you here.”

Kallus squeezed his eyes shut even more tightly, thanking the stars Kanan couldn’t see the tears that were now flowing freely from them. Oh, this was worse than the anger he thought he would face when he revealed his failure to the rebels, the way he’d led Thrawn to them. This was much, much worse. 

“You don’t _know_ what’s here”—he whispered, tapping his finger over his own heart—“and that’s the problem.”

“Then tell me, Kallus. Help me understand. Help me to help you.”

“I’m….I’m not even sure where to begin. And I’m not sure you’ll still welcome me when I’m through.”

Kanan sat patiently. Kallus took a deep breath to steady himself.

“If you’ve spoken with Zeb, you may know why I had such a… complicated relationship with lasats.” Kanan nodded. Kallus was glad not to have to probe that part of his past again at the moment; reliving it with Zeb on the ice moon had brought the nightmares of Onderon and Lasan back, had kept him up every night for a month after Bahryn, and had only recently faded into a dull, gripping pain in his gut every time he thought about either of them. He took another deep breath.

“But Zeb challenged me. To look at the Empire, to ask questions about Geonosis. And so I looked. There wasn’t much to find, actually; everything there was about Geonosis was in the Imperial archives on Scarif, not the main Imperial information network. But if the absence of life on Geonosis had been a result of an accident, or of evacuation or disease, the information would be readily available on the main system, even if it were security-protected. The fact that the information was housed on Scarif means that it is part of an Imperial plan. It was no accident.”

Kanan nodded. “We were there. The _Ghost_ crew went to Geonosis. We found Imperial equipment deep in the caves. You’re right; there was something more than an accident.” Kanan paused. “But what does this have to do with me, Kallus? You said I was the last person in the galaxy who could help you.” 

“Nothing, directly. But it did make me begin to question everything I thought I knew about what I had been told. I learned more. About Lasan, first.” He paused, gathering himself again. “And then, about the Jedi.”

“Ah,” Kanan nodded. “I think I understand. You had been told the reason the Jedi disappeared, that we were traitors to the Republic, but you discovered the truth.…”

“Yes, that, yes,” Kallus cut in, “but that’s not entirely….Listen. Let me start again.” 

He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. 

It was time, he knew, to share a burden that he had never shared before.


	3. Memoriae

The story Kallus told him cut Kanan to the heart. 

A story of a softhearted young woman who had a brief, passionate affair with a young, grieving Jedi who had, he said, just lost his Master. 

A young woman bereft when that Jedi left her and committed himself again to his Order and its discipline. 

A young boy growing up without a father on the lower levels of Coruscant, watching his broken-hearted mother try her best to bring him up right and provide for him.

“I never knew him, Kanan. I never knew my father. She wouldn’t tell me his name, though I’m sure she knew it. She respected his choice. All I had of him was an old holo, a blurry picture of him and my mother that she carried like a talisman until she died and I found it.” Kanan felt Kallus’s grief spike in the Force. 

“And now, I don’t even have that. I _hated_ him, Kanan. I hated him for what he had done to her. But I…I wanted to know him, too. I wanted to know something about him, especially after…. I had hoped, actually, to ask you if you could help me find out who he was. Jedi files were well-scrubbed from the old Republic databases. But now I have nothing.” 

“I think I understand a little better now,” Kanan said quietly. “Kallus, I’m so sorry.”

He could feel the hostility, the hurt, the grief entangled in Kallus’s Force signature. But more: still shame, still guilt. “That’s not all.” Another deep sigh.

“When I was about ten years old, my mother found someone new. Someone to take care of us. He was a good man, Markus was. They married and he found us a good home, up in the safer levels. I started to go to school regularly. And soon I had a brother.” He could feel Kallus shift beneath him, the guilt and discomfort sparking off him. “I was happy for her. For me, too—we weren’t alone anymore. We were a real family. But…my little brother was different. He was Force-sensitive. 

“I was…jealous. The attention he received, I felt was due to me.” Kallus’s voice began to crack. “It felt…so unfair. My father was a Jedi. But I wasn’t Force-sensitive. Yet here came my brother, and even _he_ had something more of my father than _I_ did. I resented him for it, Kanan.” He could feel the pain in the confession. 

“I loved him, but I resented him. And then they took him away. When he was three. They took him to the Temple, with my step-father’s approval. 

“But it broke my mother. And we never saw him again.”

Kanan could feel the pain as if it were his own. “Kallus,” he began, “I’m so –“

“They took Caleb away from her. From us.”

Kanan froze.

“She was never the same,” Kallus continued. “I could never forgive the Jedi for that. Or myself. I felt I’d driven him away with my jealousy, somehow. I know it’s foolish, but it felt like a punishment. And then the Jedi turned against the Republic, we thought, and we were told he was a traitor and dead, and…”

“What…what was your brother’s name?” Kanan whispered, his heart pounding so loudly he imagined everyone on the ship could hear it.

“Caleb.” He felt Kallus’s hope spike in the Force. “Why? Did you know him, Kanan? That’s right; I suppose you’re the right age to have known him.” 

“Kallus, what was your step-father’s name?”

“Dume. Kanan, did you know…?”

He gripped Kallus’s shoulder more tightly, raised his left hand to touch Kallus’s face, turning it gently to face him. 

“Kallus, I…I don’t remember my family. I changed my name after Order 66, after they killed my Master and came for me. But my real name was….my name is Caleb Dume.”


	4. Fratres

Kallus sat up quickly, ignoring his protesting ribs, his bruised flesh. 

He grabbed Kanan’s hands. “You’re _Caleb_? You….all this time? You’ve been….you’re…my _brother_?”

This was impossible. And yet….what did possible even mean anymore? If he had settled for what he thought was possible, he wouldn’t be here right now. 

All of his anger, all of his pain, all of his guilt were washed aside by a rush of tears and laughter. 

“My brother. My _kriffing Jedi brother_. Is _alive, and sitting in front of me_.” He shook his head, disbelief slowing slipping into acknowledgment. Joy. His brother. Kanan was his brother. _Caleb_. Caleb was _alive_. 

Kanan joined in heartily, his laughter reaching his eyes and pouring out of them in joyful tears. “Agent Kallus. The most annoying, persistent agent in the Empire. And the most stubborn, frustrating Fulcrum agent in the Rebellion. It would figure you’re my kriffing _brother_!” He doubled over in laughter. 

Kallus thought he could actually feel the Force laughing with them. Was that possible, too? Maybe, he thought. Who knew? Maybe it was.

“Kanan Jarrus. The most annoying, persistent Jedi in the galaxy. And the most stubborn, frustrating rebel in the whole rebellion. It would figure _you_ are _my_ kriffing brother,” Kallus shot back, wiping his eyes. “How could I not see it?”

“At least I have an excuse, Kallus. I’m blind.”

They embraced then, as tightly as Kallus’s injuries would allow –Kanan seemed to be able to sense that as well.

“Remember what I said at the factory on Lothal? I still want to Force-throw you through a viewscreen, Kallus. If that’s any consolation.” 

Kallus snorted. “Yes, actually. It’s nice to know some things never change.”

“And there’s the answer to my puzzle, I suppose. Why I could always sense you more clearly than most in the Force.” Kanan chuckled, then paused. 

“But you have another puzzle, Kallus.”

“Alexsandr, actually. I feel as if perhaps my brother should know my first name,” he said with a grin.

“Whoa. Okay…Alexsandr. Do you go by Alexsandr, or Sandr, or Alex, or …?”

“Please. Just…Kallus is fine for now. I have enough to deal with today without a bunch of rebels calling me by a childhood nickname,” he replied. Kanan sensed Kallus’s grimace and grinned.

“Fair enough. But…your father. Your birth father, that is, not….our father.” Kanan shook his head, still apparently getting used to the idea. “Do you know anything about him that might help us figure out who he might have been? It might be hard to narrow it down now, but…”

“Not much, no. My mother—our mother— said I took after her in height—she was very tall, like you and I are”—he shook his head with a smile—“but that I had his coloring. Hair, anyway. I had her eyes.”

“OK. A Jedi human with reddish-blond hair. Human, right? Not Wookiee?” Kallus glared at him amicably. “Okay. Anything else?”

Kallus shook his head. “I doubt it. She wouldn’t tell me his name. But she did say he had become a Master.”

Kanan visibly blanched.

“What? Does that help?”

“Maybe. Wait here.” Kanan rushed out of the room, leaving Kallus curious, as he had been when he first saw him blinded on Lothal, at how easily Kanan negotiated space despite his new disability. 

Before he had a chance to think much about it, Kanan was back.

“Kallus, would you remember your father if you saw him? From that holo?”

“I can never forget it.”

Kanan nodded solemnly, then lifted a small object between them. As Kallus watched, Kanan settled onto his knees, closed his eyes, and lowered his hands. As he did, the object floated between them, and opened. A flickering holo image emerged, and Kallus sat, open-mouthed, as the figure began to speak.

_“This is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen, with the dark shadow of the Empire rising to take their place._

_This message is a warning and a reminder for any surviving Jedi._

_Trust in the Force. Do not return to the Temple. That time has passed. And our future is uncertain._

_We will each be challenged. Our trust. Our faith. Our friendships. But we must persevere. And in time, a new hope will emerge._

_May the Force be with you, always.”_

The object closed again, and lowered gently back into Kanan’s palm.

“Kallus?”


	5. In Armes

Kallus’s Force signature was different. Lighter. Some of that weight of guilt had lifted. Their bond—their brotherly bond—glowed clearly now.

But there was more there, too. A stability, a clarity, a calmness. 

“That’s him, Kanan. That man. He is…was…my father.”

He could hear Kallus’s question in his reply. Was. Is.

“I don’t know whether he’s dead or alive, Kallus. Ezra thought he survived, thought he was on Tatooine. It’s…very complicated.” He shook his head, trying to imagine how to explain Maul, the Sith holocron, Ezra’s visions, his quiet return from Tatooine. “But you can ask him. It wasn’t my place to ask what he found there. If Master Obi-wan wanted to be found, Ezra would have told me, I think. It is your place, though. If you want to ask.” 

He could feel the tension in the air, then felt it dissipate.

“It’s enough to know his name, now. Who he was. Can you….tell me about him, Kanan?” He could barely make out Kallus’s voice, so tentative and quiet it was. 

What could he possibly say to Master Obi-wan’s son? Obi-wan’s _son_. And Kanan’s own _brother_. He shook his head in disbelief, a wry smile quirking his lips. The Force always had a few surprises for him. It never paid to get too comfortable.

“He was a General of the Republic and, as you already know, a Jedi Master. He was the first Jedi in living memory to kill a Sith Lord. His Master, too, was legendary. Qui-Gon Jinn. A great Jedi. Both of them.” He thought of Kallus’s story then, of his childhood. He felt Kallus’s anger, his pain, surge again in the Force, though less oppressively now. He sighed.

“It was said that Obi-wan watched Darth Maul kill his Master before he could save him. That Qui-Gon died in his arms. It had to have been…” He stopped, his voice catching. Yes. He knew what it meant to watch your Master die. What it could do to a life. The bad choices that might just follow from it. 

He saw, suddenly, the strands of his own life, and those of Hera, of Obi-Wan, Kallus, Maul, Qui-Gon, his own Master, the clones, Anakin Skywalker, Master Yoda, Zeb, Ezra….all of them, looping and weaving in a giant tapestry, made of people’s choices, attachments, actions, good and bad. All leading to this moment, then stretching out ahead….The image flickered and passed away. 

“It had to have been devastating. But he managed, somehow.” He paused as they both considered how Obi-wan might have found a spark of life in the wake of his Master’s death. 

He heard Kallus exhale slowly, and took a deep, steadying breath himself. 

“He became a Master, took an apprentice in Anakin Skywalker, and eventually became part of the Jedi Council. He fought bravely in the Clone Wars. 

“And his message saved my life. That’s what I know.”

They both sat with that for a few quiet moments.

Then Kallus took his hand, pressed it between his own.

“Thank you. Brother.”

The image came back to him again: the strands of all of those lives, and more. Woven together, tied more tightly, more clearly now. Weaving a web of light around them, and leading forward into an uncertain future, one full of pain but also full of hope. A new hope. A new home.

He squeezed his hand in Kallus’s, then brought him once again into a gentle embrace.

“Welcome home. Brother. Welcome home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the ride. My daughter and I brewed this up, and I've mentioned the idea to a few people (gondalsqueen, ibreathethroughwords), but I figured it was time to put it out there before my fantasy is destroyed by Season 4. I hope you enjoyed this crack-not-crack. 
> 
> That snark delivered with a Core World accent, that red-blond hair and facial hair....and then the Season 4 Kallus model....it was just too hard to resist. 
> 
> Explains the new S. 4 beard, though, right? Like father, like son?
> 
> (edited to add NB: apologies, but I have to admit that I stole a teeeeensy bit of stuff from my other fics here: a handful of actual lines almost verbatim, and an image that I've sorta used before. Since one is from a fic that's now effectively an AU and the other from one with a Major Character Death, both several months old, I figure the likelihood of it being caught are slim, but if it looked familiar from something else of mine, it is.)


End file.
